Nearly Saved
by JustlikeWater
Summary: It's the middle of the war and Harry hasn't slept in weeks. The weight of the world rests on the Chosen ones shoulders, and Ginny does all she can to lighten the burden, but is it enough? Perhaps there is such thing as too late.


Harry sat in his favorite chair in the common room- the one directly in front of the fire- and absently watched the flames, thoughts of the war weighing heavily on his mind. It was nearly two in the morning- far too early for any sane person- so he was a bit startled when he realized someone had joined him

"Hi, Harry," Ginny said calmly. The corners of his mouth lifted in what would have been a smile, if it weren't for the troubling thoughts darkening his expression. She smiled back anyway and sat in the chair next to him.

"Hey Gin, why are you up so late?"

"Can't sleep." She replied absentmindedly. She turned to face him. "What about you? Why are you down here?" The light of the fire reflecting in his eyes reminded her of broken sea glass.

At first he said nothing, rather choosing to stare into the fire and think. After a moment he turned and met her corn- flower blue eyes, wide and open and inviting for even the ugliest of confessions. "I...I couldn't sleep either," he muttered lamely. How could he tell Ginny that he hadn't slept more than an hour since the war began? He hated burdening others with his problems. Hadn't Ginny suffered enough?

She tilted her head slightly to the left, studying his expression. She said nothing, only took his hand resting on the arm of the chair. "You're worried, aren't you?"

There was a single beat of hesitation before he finally spoke, "Gin...Ever since the War began, and people have been dying, I- I just cant get their faces out of my mind," He raked his fingers through his hair in frustration, "Ginny I've had the same nightmare for two months now, every bloody night, and it's always the exact same" She squeezed his hand, silently encouraging him to continue.

"I'm in a grave yard, it's empty and desolate, and at first all I do is just stand there. Then, suddenly my- my parents show up, and they're happy to see me, they smile...but then something makes them wilt. They fall into a grave and then more people appear. Head stones begin cropping up everywhere, and on each one it says their name, except, with a picture of...me," He laughed without mirth, a hollow sound that made Ginny wince. "And yeah- I get what my subconscious is saying. Everyone dies for me, for the Chosen one, and that's somehow supposed to justify it," he shook his head ruefully and cradled his head in his hands. "Every one that dies for me, Gin, I can't stop seeing, dreaming, and thinking about them!"

She knitted her eyebrows together. "I can't imagine how haunting that is for you..." She whispered. "What I can say is that it will all get better eventually. Everyone that's passed on is in a better place now." She squeezed his hand reassuringly.

Harry squeezed back once before extricating his hand and walking to the window.

"But see, Gin, I can't look at it like that. To me it is a life being snuffed out too soon, too quickly, by the wrong hand," He pressed his forehead against the cool glass.

In the last few months so much had changed. Hogwarts was no longer the lively, jubilant place it once was.

Instead it seemed as if the students were mere ghosts, roaming the halls, going through the motions; completely alive and yet utterly dead. Harry was not excluded in this.

She watched him helplessly, feeling his pain as if it were her own, wishing there was some way she could help him. All these years it was him that she wanted, he was the one she needed to have by her side to survive this, and perhaps he needed her as well. In three brisk steps she was behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist, chin propped up on his shoulder. "What do I even have to live for anymore?" he whispered. "I know I'm going to die, and from the looks of things, so will everyone I care about, so what's the point?"

"Harry-" She started, ready to tell him that he had her. She'd always be there, whether she wanted to or not, it seemed. He turned to her, shattered green- glass eyes fixed upon her own, and for one second he looked hopeful, as if maybe something did await him at the end of all this; as if he had someone worth surviving for.

But then Harry looked away, because details like that cannot exist in chaos. And really, that's what it was. Cleverly concealed, sugar- coated chaos. The presence of war floated just above laughter, pleasant conversation, petty worries and smiles. It lingered like slimy residue once saccharine words had faded into silence; disappearing with distraction but coming like an avalanche when there was nothing left to do but think.

He walked away from the window, gently removed her arms, and began to walk up to his room. Because, just like that, the moment was broken. Shattered beyond repair, just like Harry.

"Goodnight, Ginevra."

….

And so, the Chosen one moved forward. He plowed through the war with no heart and no mind because if he had either, he would have gone mad. Killing became casual, blood no longer disturbed him, the snapping of bones and the shredding of skin didn't even make him flinch.

Little did Ginny know that by the time the war would end, everything resolved in its horribly gruesome way, she would be too late to claim him, his heart too hardened; his soul too misplaced.

But then again-

Who's to say what heals?


End file.
